Siblings come in almost as many varieties as gourmet coffee. Some are half, whole or step (skim). Some are calm (decaf) while others are an extra shot of espresso. Some are even mocha, caramel or white mocha.
Siblings are an anomaly. The first child is like a shock to the system and then sometime between screaming infancy and screaming toddlerhood, the parent believes it is possible to live through it one more time. Oh boy!
The new baby gets mixed reviews from the existing child. One minute big brother is holding the baby's bottle and the next, he's trying to drive his racecar through her head. He goes through the phase where he hates her for stealing mommy, and then he decides she's not so bad.
At some point through all of this (hopefully), we sneak glances of secret adoration. A hug or a kiss. A tickle and a giggle. Then one morning when baby wakes up she yells, "Bubby!"
You think, hey, this isn't so bad, I could do this again. Then you put down baby and she screams for the five whole minutes it took you to get her breakfast and you remember. Kids are crazy.
But kids are awesome! Especially when you teach them the best sibling catch phrase ever spoken by a toddler: He not heaby, he a brudder!
5.21.2010
5.15.2010
Hello Hungry, I'm Mom.
Children grow like weeds. They're stomachs are also miniscule (their actual stomachs, not their adorable little Buddha Bellies). With their powers combined, they are... Always Hungry!
As parents, we try to give our kids as close to the recommended amounts of good, nutritious food as we can, though most of us are lucky if we can get them to eat their vegetables (I've still never met a child who eats lima beans). Cheese does seem to disguise the green enough for it to no longer be in the green part of the toddler color spectrum, but even then, they still have to sit down at dinner time and eat.
What toddler in his right mind (are any of them really ever in their right minds?) would stop playing whatever super fun game he was playing just so he could make your day by sitting up at the table, placing his napkin on his lap (because he knows how his messes make your life harder), eating his vegetables first and commenting on how beautiful you look today? If your children are anything like mine, there are at least three announcements for dinner even after they have been bothering you for 15 minutes because they're huuuuungryyyyyy. Then comes the exclamation that "I don't like it!"
"How do you know? You've never had it."
"But I don't like it!!! I want a snack."
And after a hearty meal of approximately one chicken nugget, three green beans and five macaronis, they want a snack. While you cook the dinner they won't eat, they want a snack. When they wake up from the ever elusive nap, they want a snack. If I'd let him, my son would petition the government to make Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Crackers a valid food group.
And after dinner (and some whining and a snack), when it's time to go to bed, one of the last things my son tells me is, "Mom, I'm hungry!"
Well, hello Hungry, I'm Mom, and I'll be making your dinner for the remainder of your childhood (and you'll eat it and like it).
As parents, we try to give our kids as close to the recommended amounts of good, nutritious food as we can, though most of us are lucky if we can get them to eat their vegetables (I've still never met a child who eats lima beans). Cheese does seem to disguise the green enough for it to no longer be in the green part of the toddler color spectrum, but even then, they still have to sit down at dinner time and eat.
What toddler in his right mind (are any of them really ever in their right minds?) would stop playing whatever super fun game he was playing just so he could make your day by sitting up at the table, placing his napkin on his lap (because he knows how his messes make your life harder), eating his vegetables first and commenting on how beautiful you look today? If your children are anything like mine, there are at least three announcements for dinner even after they have been bothering you for 15 minutes because they're huuuuungryyyyyy. Then comes the exclamation that "I don't like it!"
"How do you know? You've never had it."
"But I don't like it!!! I want a snack."
And after a hearty meal of approximately one chicken nugget, three green beans and five macaronis, they want a snack. While you cook the dinner they won't eat, they want a snack. When they wake up from the ever elusive nap, they want a snack. If I'd let him, my son would petition the government to make Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Crackers a valid food group.
And after dinner (and some whining and a snack), when it's time to go to bed, one of the last things my son tells me is, "Mom, I'm hungry!"
Well, hello Hungry, I'm Mom, and I'll be making your dinner for the remainder of your childhood (and you'll eat it and like it).
5.03.2010
Silly (Putty) Perspectives
Perspective. It's hard to get, and hard to keep. It's hard to know you have the right one. It's hard to know if there even is a correct perspective. Perspectives are pliable. They change with every season, every life event, every phase of the moon. Heck, they change every day.
Perspectives involving children are particularly metamorphic. A child's perspective on the world is magical. Everything is new and bigger than life (at least their life). Slowly, as they gain more life experience and lose their naivety, their perspective on things takes a sour turn until they have children of their own (that means we get old too).
Ahh... children. You love them (but not necessarily always like them), but they're always better for others than for you. The cashier at the grocery remarks on how sweet they are. You inquire as to whether their establishment accepts payment in children. The funny look the cashier gives you gives you the answer (and maybe a visit from child services).
You desperately try to get rid of the kids for just an hour (please, just FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE. Please let me go to the bathroom ALONE!!!), and when the shining moment appears heralded in with the heavens opening up to reveal a choir of angels singing and a band of trumpets blaring the respite you so desperately deserve, all you want is to see your kids.
Perspective. Your parents probably didn't like you, but they love (or will love or won't if you don't have) your kids. Because THEY know. THEY know what's coming and that keeps things in perspective.
My children are much like others that have gone before them... completely insane. They turned me from a mild mannered house wife into (no, not a super hero) some kind of super villain. It may have been all the times I had to be the Megatron to his Optimus Prime (or the Lex Luthor to his Superman, or Green Goblin to Spiderman or Mama-Be-The-Bad-Guy-So-I-Can-Beat-You-Up), or maybe not (That's an argument for nature vs. nurture). But, one thing is for sure, I had crazy eyes, lowered inhibitions (what have I got to lose, I could plead insanity), and always had that frazzled look about me. Slightly panicked. Other mothers recognize the look.
Then I had surgery. I had a break (and a breakdown). It was a glorious break. Pain medication, bed rest, and all the terrible SyFy shows I could handle. The only thing that could have made it better was a beach... and maybe an umbrella drink... and oh yeah, not being post-op (but you take it where you can get it).
Then suddenly it changed. My perspective. Suddenly, I adored my children (I was on drugs). They were fantastic specimens of the human race. The world was going to be fine after all. There was hope for everything... all embodied in these two little precious bundles (Pandora's boxes). A few days later when (the meds wore off ) I started getting the frazzled look again... you guessed it, perspective. Only this time, it was as if I were home. It was like a dream and you were there crazy eyes, and you, loud mouth, and you, frazzled hair (and Toto too).
And now, when my children drive me to the brink, I smile and think that There's No Place Like Home.
Perspectives involving children are particularly metamorphic. A child's perspective on the world is magical. Everything is new and bigger than life (at least their life). Slowly, as they gain more life experience and lose their naivety, their perspective on things takes a sour turn until they have children of their own (that means we get old too).
Ahh... children. You love them (but not necessarily always like them), but they're always better for others than for you. The cashier at the grocery remarks on how sweet they are. You inquire as to whether their establishment accepts payment in children. The funny look the cashier gives you gives you the answer (and maybe a visit from child services).
You desperately try to get rid of the kids for just an hour (please, just FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE. Please let me go to the bathroom ALONE!!!), and when the shining moment appears heralded in with the heavens opening up to reveal a choir of angels singing and a band of trumpets blaring the respite you so desperately deserve, all you want is to see your kids.
Perspective. Your parents probably didn't like you, but they love (or will love or won't if you don't have) your kids. Because THEY know. THEY know what's coming and that keeps things in perspective.
My children are much like others that have gone before them... completely insane. They turned me from a mild mannered house wife into (no, not a super hero) some kind of super villain. It may have been all the times I had to be the Megatron to his Optimus Prime (or the Lex Luthor to his Superman, or Green Goblin to Spiderman or Mama-Be-The-Bad-Guy-So-I-Can-Beat-You-Up), or maybe not (That's an argument for nature vs. nurture). But, one thing is for sure, I had crazy eyes, lowered inhibitions (what have I got to lose, I could plead insanity), and always had that frazzled look about me. Slightly panicked. Other mothers recognize the look.
Then I had surgery. I had a break (and a breakdown). It was a glorious break. Pain medication, bed rest, and all the terrible SyFy shows I could handle. The only thing that could have made it better was a beach... and maybe an umbrella drink... and oh yeah, not being post-op (but you take it where you can get it).
Then suddenly it changed. My perspective. Suddenly, I adored my children (I was on drugs). They were fantastic specimens of the human race. The world was going to be fine after all. There was hope for everything... all embodied in these two little precious bundles (Pandora's boxes). A few days later when (the meds wore off ) I started getting the frazzled look again... you guessed it, perspective. Only this time, it was as if I were home. It was like a dream and you were there crazy eyes, and you, loud mouth, and you, frazzled hair (and Toto too).
And now, when my children drive me to the brink, I smile and think that There's No Place Like Home.
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